Hating on Graduation is hard

Graduation day. Supposed to be a milestone, right? One of the happiest days of your lives, some people (morons) say. Well, not if I, the Angry Grad, have anything to do with it.

I was proper excited for it to be a ‘mare, and my God did the day start off that way. I got stuck in traffic, locked in toilets and stripped of my gown (who the FUCK designed them to attach by Velcro? I couldn’t even swing my cape around like Hazza P without some sort of gown-related disaster).

I was all set to miss frolicking across the stage, and that really would have made a fantastic rant. But, alas, I made it and was ready to pinpoint and critique all the flaws of G-DAY.

Whilst, yes, if we were in the USA, I would major in moaning, there’s no way I can fault the venue. It pains me to praise, but it’s gotta be said: it doesn’t get much better than the Royal Albert Hall.

The grandiosity of the venue really does drive home the fact that you can now put those three little letters after your name, and at the end of the day, I did achieve something pretty special and unique – just like the other 800+ people I graduated with.

The RAH, as British as it may be, cannot balance out the guju community of ICL. I salute you, Shahs, Patels and Chowdrys, for making my face crack a smile. Y’all just kept appearing, like food at your grandmother’s house, and my God do I love you for it.

Moreover, instead of us Asians sticking out like sore thumbs with our names, which debatably were invented on scrabble boards, the Robinsons and Smiths amongst the crowd were the ones that shocked us.

We may have finished the ceremony with God Save the Queen, but that didn’t stop us from playing Where’s Wally with the white people before, during and after.

While I did moan about socialising in my last column? Raving it up with my homies at the reception was pretty darn fun. I smashed my fair share of champagne, had one too many a photo shoot, and generally just jammed like the baller I am with my coursemates.

It was quite cathartic really, seeing as we’ll probably never all be together again – they’ll be finding cures to cancer across the globe while I still can’t perfect rolling a round chapatti – so we did just savour the moment. I’m not sure how to describe it, as it is an emotion I am unfamiliar with, but I believe the common folk call it ‘being content’. Even my tutor pointed out that I came across as overwhelmed, which made an amusing change to my usually underwhelmed state. For those of you yet to graduate: you have a lot to look forward to.

I’m gonna sign off – I’m heaving and need a chunder because this article is sickeningly sweet. I tried to hate on graduation, but I couldn’t, so now I hate myself.

P.S. WTF was that weird drum bell thing on stage? Someone enlighten me via the Editor please.

P.P.S. To those who read my last column: I didn’t fall on stage (unfortunately, no one did), and I did indeed look peng. DOUBLE WIN.